Too Long
by MangoPirate
Summary: A brief look at the romantic history of Diego and Mia.


_Author's Note: HI! This is my first foray into Phoenix Wright fanfiction! I'm a long-time fic author, but I just recently got into this fandom. Diego/Mia is my OTP... so I decided to try my hand at writing a fanfic based on their relationship. I'm not sure how well I succeeded, but at least I tried!_

Rating: PGish  
Pairing: Diego/Mia  
Warnings: None, except that it's my first try at PW fanfiction so I apologize if it's less than you expect. ;; But I can promise correct spelling and punctuation!

* * *

**Too Long**

She remembered the exact moment she had met him. He was leaning back in a large maroon desk chair with his feet up on the table before him, eyes shut, and hands hanging limply at his sides. She had hardly bothered to examine him any more closely, and instead opted to scoot the important documents out from beneath his recently-shined shoes and carry on with her day, leaving him none the wiser. The purposeful attempt to come across as nonchalant, however, ended before it began--the toe of her high-heeled foot collided with the handle of the mug that rested on the floor beside the desk chair, and the man she had assumed to be asleep leapt from his seat and turned to glare at her in one fluid motion.

"Watch where you're walking!" he blurted immediately.

She tried desperately to mumble her apologies then, but the demure "I'm sorry" that she expected to form on her lips was instead beaten out by a shrill, "Well if you hadn't been sleeping on the job, you could've kept an eye on your coffee!"

"I wasn't sleeping! Just resting my eyes!"

"Oh, sure," she retorted sarcastically, even as she knelt to clean up the mess she had made. "I've heard that before!"

Any other information on what exactly she had heard before (or where she had heard it) was lost on him. He watched her cleaning until she caught the direction of his gaze and stood up quickly, not even giving him a moment to compliment her figure before leaving a red handprint along the side of his face.

He laughed then, his eyes dancing and dark, and she watched the way he grinned at her, wondering when he would tell her that she was fired on her first day. But all he had said was, "Good thing my eyes got that rest. Otherwise, I might have missed that view, huh, Kitten?" Ignoring the look she gave him--which clearly said "Give me one more good reason and I will make certain that hot coffee ends up in your lap"--he then settled down to business, explaining what he could about the office to her and behaving as if the incident had never occurred.

Over time, the glances she stole at him had become longer and she had no reason to complain when difficult cases warranted overtime work. She even began to believe that there was more meaning behind his winks and comments than only a casual arrogance permitted. She was sure he noticed every time her face flushed pink when he patted her shoulder--she just hoped he didn't mind.

One day, he had asked her why she never drank the coffee that was always brewing well before she arrived to work, and she told him honestly that she had never been one for the taste. After a pause to let such a concept sink in, he had pulled an unexpected response out of the air. She assumed he would make fun of her or convince her to try it again; he grabbed her by the shoulders and mashed his lips against hers until her mouth ached from the pressure instead. When he finally let her go, she slapped his laughing face for the second time since they had gotten to know each other, and he apologized, although not very convincingly. Two days later, she spouted off her best coffee-related innuendo and returned the favor of the spontaneous kiss. She remembered little more than his eyes, wide in surprise at the onslaught, closed in the intensity of her lips and the addition of her tongue, then fluttering open once again when a loud "ahem" signaled the fact that their boss had chosen precisely the wrong moment to walk into the room. Later they would laugh about it, but initially she spent the rest of the afternoon sobbing and embarrassed in the bathroom.

From then on, the two could only become closer, and she was not surprised at all to find herself in his apartment, sipping coffee daintily one moment and pinned down to the couch cushions the next. She had enough foresight to insist they move from the high windows of his living area to the more enclosed space occupied by his room, but past that, she gave up all mental processes and crashed into bed with him without so much as a second thought. She stayed well into the following morning, listening to his steady, slow breathing and watching his face for any sign that he might be about to awaken. After a long while of waiting, she tickled the bare skin of his arms until he jerked to consciousness and blinked blearily at her.

"What are you doing?" he asked, semi-coherent.

"You've been asleep way too long," she giggled. "I can't stand going too long without seeing those eyes of yours."

He frowned, but the nudge he gave her was playful. "I guess I'll be flattered instead of bothered that you've been watching me while I sleep," he said. "But it's a little creepy, Kitten."

"I'm new to this whole afterglow thing," she admitted, and he gave a short, barking laugh that meant he was only a little taken aback. She stuck her tongue out at him. "Stop laughing at me!"

"Don't think of it as laughing at you... Think of it as... you can always make me smile," he said, and she rolled her eyes goodnaturedly, wondering how he was able to come up with such a line when he was still so groggy.

--

So many memories played out across the painted backdrops in her mind. Late nights poring over difficult texts, propped against each other and deep in thought until one or the other gave one too many gentle touches and then all pretense was dropped and the night's work was ended; shared joyful victory and painful defeat across the months. She remembered it all while she sat perched on the edge of the uncomfortable chair and stared intently, savoring the memories that juxtaposed themselves over the prematurely lined face and graying hair. She could still hear him laughing over the beeping of the machines and the bustle of the surrounding hospital ward.

The nurses whispered that she was a saint, so devoted to her lover and never giving up hope on him. She knew nothing of these assertions, and continued her regime with every last belief that he would again wake up for her.

He had been asleep for too long, after all, and she could not stand going so long without seeing his eyes again.

-end-


End file.
